Win-Win-Win
by Tintern Abbey
Summary: Ryan likes Kelly best when she's quiet. Unfortunately Kelly is never quiet.


_Disclaimer:_ I don't claim to own _The Office_ or anything else you may recognize here.

 _Note:_ This was originally written in 2010 and posted on livejournal (and removed since then). I was looking through my old things and decided to post this back up. Doesn't take place during a particular season, though I had seasons 2 and 3 in mind when I wrote this.

* * *

 **Win-Win-Win**

Ryan likes Kelly best when she's quiet. Unfortunately Kelly is _never_ quiet, even in her sleep. He remembers one time she fell asleep during a movie that Ryan wanted to watch for a change (if he had to sit through _Bring It On_ or _Legally Blonde_ one more time he would probably shoot himself) and she sleeptalked during all the best parts. Ryan didn't get to enjoy his movie, but he did learn that Kelly's dreams are just as petty and ridiculous as her waking life. He could have sworn she mentioned lip gloss about five times.

It's not exactly _terrible_ to work at a desk that's only a few short feet away from Kelly, but sometimes Ryan wishes he could set up a partition between them, or go temporarily deaf for a few hours each day. There's only so much chattering about Brad Pitt and brand new shoes and online tabloids he can take before he reaches his breaking point.

"Oh my god, Ryan, I found the most _awesome_ place to have our wedding," says Kelly, turning around in her seat so she can tug excitedly at his shirtsleeve. "Seriously, it is so amazing, I could just die."

Ryan doesn't move an inch, keeping his eyes fixed on his computer screen. "Kelly, we're not getting married." It's sad how many times he's told her this.

"I just want you to look, okay? It will only take a second."

" _Kelly_."

"Come on, just one look!" She's tugging his sleeve again, and it's getting progressively harder to ignore her. "Please please please please—"

"All right, all right." Ryan swivels his chair around to glance at Kelly's computer screen for just a second, and he catches a glimpse of some pixilated photograph featuring a beach or a temple, or maybe a highway intersection. "That's nice."

Kelly is not satisfied with this response and resorts to poking him in the back with a ballpoint pen. "You didn't even _look_. You are such a jerk, I swear."

"I'm trying to work, Kelly."

"Please. You can't even make a single sale. If Michael didn't have that totally weird crush on you, you wouldn't even be working here anymore. You would be out on the street or working at Burger King or something because you suck at selling paper."

There are three things that Ryan always hates to be reminded of: 1.) Michael, 2.) his failure at sales, and—

"Plus, you started a fire!" Kelly adds gleefully.

And that would be #3.

"Maybe if you stopped talking and let me work, I could finally make a sale," says Ryan, resisting the urge to stab himself with a letter opener or a pair of scissors. The last thing he needs is to have Michael rush out of his office and cart him off to the hospital (all the while making ridiculous jokes and telling him he can't lose his hottest employee, or something equally weird).

Kelly just laughs. "Yeah right. You'll never make a sale, loser." And then she's quiet for five blissful minutes.

Five wonderful, too-good-to-be-true minutes of peace and quiet, aside from the sounds of Toby typing on his keyboard and phones ringing in the distance. For five whole minutes Ryan gets a chance to think up new excuses he can use when Kelly asks him to hang out over the weekend, and whether or not he should get a new tie, and how glad he is to hear silence from the desk across from his.

Then Kelly ruins it when she gasps out loud and says "oh my god" at least ten times in a row. "Ryan, Ryan, Ryan. You've _got_ to see this skirt I found online. It's short, but not _too_ short, and it's all-white, and you know how awesome I look in white. I guess it could get dirty easily, but I'll just be really super careful and I won't wear it when we go out with your friends, because face it, Ryan, your friends are idiots. They'll probably spill beer all over it or something."

"Uh-huh," says Ryan, not really listening.

"You want to see it? I was totally going to spend my birthday money on that purse I saw at the mall last month, but I already _have_ three purses and this is the cutest skirt in the world—"

"I'm busy, Kelly. Sorry."

"Sorry? You're not even working! I can see your computer! You are the biggest liar I've ever met, Ryan Bailey Howard, and don't blame me if you never make any sales. You're just stupid and lazy and have no fashion sense and think all boy bands sound the same when they _definitely_ do not."

Ryan is pretty sure he's on the verge of a massive headache. "Kelly, please."

"I'm not done yet. You never, ever return my calls and when I do manage to contact you, you don't listen to a word I say. How pathetic is that? No wonder you don't have any clients. And you never have time for me on the weekends and you always fall asleep during my favorite movies and—"

Ryan turns his chair around and kisses her, which is an easy maneuver because she's wheeled her own chair directly behind him and is facing his computer (which has a half-played game of solitaire covering the screen). Kelly immediately shuts up, partially from surprise and partially from the fact that Ryan is kissing her with more enthusiasm than he's shown in weeks.

It's a win-win situation.

* * *

All Ryan wants to do is get a soda from the vending machine, because he was up late studying for business class and needs the caffeine rush. He's also feeling lousy because Michael spent twenty minutes calling him on his work phone and pretending to be clients, using a different voice each time. Michael could have at least pretended to buy some paper, but apparently Ryan is so incompetent he can't even sell to fake clients.

Before he gets a chance to stick his quarters in the vending machine, however, Kelly comes bouncing into the break room and looks thrilled to death at the sight of him. Great. "Oh my god, Ryan, I'm so glad I ran into you! You will not _believe_ what Angela has been up to. She's trying to get a stricter dress code enforced because she thinks the women in the office dress like tramps, and then she totally glared at me, but she's probably just mad that my clothes are a million times cuter than hers. I mean, seriously, she dresses like a Puritan or whatever. No wonder she's never happy."

Ryan is trying to decide if he wants Coke or orange soda, but the sound of Kelly's voice makes thinking impossible. "Oh," he says, nodding his head like he's listening.

"I knew you would agree with me! And since you're totally Michael's favorite person ever, you can tell him that the dress code is awesome as it is and that if Angela wants to dress like a nun then she can do it by herself. She's trying to ban makeup too, but there is _no_ way I am going to work without my mascara and eye shadow, because I might as well like, wear a paper bag over my head. But I won't have to worry about this because you're going to fix everything and then Angela will realize that her stupid morals can't rule the office. I am sooo proud of you, Ryan!"

Ryan is no longer thirsty. "Kelly, I'm not talking to Michael about this."

"Why not? He's always desperate to do _anything_ for you."

"Exactly." Avoiding Michael as much as possible has become a full-time job and Ryan doesn't want to imagine the awkwardness (and downright creepiness) that would ensue if he sat down with Michael and discussed dress code with him. He already gets borderline sexually harassed enough as it is without Michael making weird comments involving his state of dress.

"You never want to do anything," says Kelly, turning frustrated, and Ryan pretends to be very interested in the vending machine. "What if a crazy murderer broke into the office and tried to cut my head off with an axe? You would totally just stand there and watch, wouldn't you? I bet you would find it hilarious if I like, had to dress like an old lady because of Angela's stupid dress code. You wouldn't even _notice_ if I had to dress like a dried-up old lady!"

"Maybe," Ryan mumbles absently. She's standing closer to him now, and he could probably kiss her if he moved just a step.

"I don't know why you have to be so useless," Kelly continues, rambling on without a break. "I know Michael's a freak and says stupid things and sometimes wears discounted clothes that I would never be caught dead in if I were a man, but it's totally sad that you're afraid to talk to him. I mean, what's he gonna do, seriously? Just because he—"

"Kelly," Ryan interrupts, then steps forward so he can crush their lips together and silence her.

Soon they're making out against the soda machine and Ryan figures he could get used to this pretty easily.

* * *

Every morning Ryan crosses the parking lot at a faster-than-normal pace in hopes of entering the building before Kelly can catch him and talk his ear off right outside the front doors. On most mornings he's able to reach his destination safely and travel up the elevator, across the office to his desk without getting accosted by any high, gossipy, female voices.

This is not one of those mornings.

"Ryan!"

He's only a few feet away from the front doors, but there's no time to save himself. Kelly can move fast when she's determined to get something (like a shirt at the mall that somebody else is eyeing up, movie tickets to films based on Nicholas Sparks novels, and Ryan when he's at his most unsocial) and she seems unhindered by the stupid heels she bought at the mall yesterday using a gift card her sister gave her for her last birthday. Ryan knows all about these particular heels because he was stupid enough to answer his phone last night and Kelly spent about an hour telling him about them.

Now she's latching onto his arm, forcing him to stand outside with her where anybody can see.

"Ryan, our phone conversation last night was _amaaazing_! I am _so_ lucky to have a boyfriend who is such an awesome listener. Did I tell you about this really cute handbag I was going to buy with my gift card last night, only I couldn't get it because some bitch wearing sweatpants and sneakers totally grabbed the last one? Yeah, I couldn't believe it. I was ready to like, call her out on it right there in the store because nobody who dresses like that ought to have a such a cute purse, but then I saw the heels and forgot all about the purse! Only I didn't _really_ forget it or else I wouldn't be telling you right now, but you know what I mean."

Sometimes Ryan wonders if he did something horrible in a past life to deserve this. "Yeah. Can we, uh, go inside?"

"Wait, I didn't even tell you about my morning." Kelly's grip on Ryan's arm tightens and Toby eyes them warily as he passes them to enter the building, but unfortunately he doesn't threaten to write them up for touching on office grounds. "Okay, so I was in the car listening to this old Beyonce song that I haven't heard in like, three years, when I saw Dwight driving in the lane next to mine and he had this totally gross deer in the back of his car. It was all dead and everything, Ryan. Can you believe it?"

"Nope." Ryan secretly hopes that her grip on his arm will cut off his circulation and make him pass out soon.

"Dwight is _so_ freaking weird, seriously. Why is he even allowed to work here? If he brings that dead deer into the office and insists on like, carving it up or something, I swear I will totally faint. Maybe Jim will save me. Or Toby. Or even one of the warehouse guys. I know _you_ won't, Ryan, because you always just stand around and laugh at me whenever I'm in trouble, which is extremely rude, by the way. Do I ever do that to you? I don't think so."

Ryan doesn't care if they're outside in public view. He puts his free arm around Kelly and finds her lips, and soon she's kissing him back instead of chattering a thousand words per minute. It's almost as satisfying as making a sale, if Ryan knew what making a sale felt like.

Kevin comes strolling along and smirks at them both, but Ryan ignores him. At least it isn't Michael.

* * *

Ryan could be looking over his business textbooks, or out drinking with his friends, or even catching up on some much needed sleep, but somehow he ended up at Kelly's place and he's trying to determine whether or not he's trapped in a bad dream. They're sitting on her couch surrounded by overly fluffy pillows in various shades of pink, purple, and orange, and they're about to watch _Bring It On_ for the _fourth_ time since the two of them started dating. It is one of the most depressing realizations of Ryan's life.

"We've already watched this," he points out dully.

"Yeah, I know!" says Kelly. "It's one of my favorite movies _ever_. Don't you just love those kinds of movies that are _so_ awesome, you could just watch them again and again until you know every line? This is going to be so much fuuuun, Ryan!" She scoots closer to him and grabs onto his hand, and Ryan consoles himself with the fact that she'll be somewhat quiet for a couple of hours.

Except for the occasional squealing, flailing, and cries of "Oh my god, Ryan! Can you believe that?" of course.

On a scale of one to ten, this is only about a six as far as torture goes.

By the time the ending credits start rolling, Ryan is half-asleep and too bored to care if Kelly's head is currently resting on his shoulder. It's only when Kelly grabs the remote and shuts the movie off that panic sets in, because Ryan knows that whenever Kelly watches this particular movie she goes around pretending she's a cheerleader for at least an hour afterwards and refuses to go out of character. It's an experience that Ryan really, really doesn't want to go through right now.

Before Kelly can open her mouth and start babbling on about pom poms and spirit fingers, Ryan leans in and kisses her first on the cheek, then on her lips. The next day she'll probably be gushing about how "totally romantic" he is to anybody within earshot, but it's a price he's willing to pay.

He doesn't want to admit it, but he kind of enjoys this.


End file.
